


You Don't Know It Yet

by Naughty_Yorick



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Misunderstandings, Pining, Rivals, Unrequited Love, one-sided
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:14:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23592184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naughty_Yorick/pseuds/Naughty_Yorick
Summary: Of course Valdo likes Jaskier. Of course he does. Jaskier is one of those people you either love or hate and – gods – Valdo knows which he feels.Valdo never meant to become Jaskier's rival. He never meant to anger him, to make him hate him. All those years ago - back before either of them found money or fame - he attempted to woo the flighty bard... but Jaskier took it as a challenge. And Jaskier never backs down from a challenge.
Relationships: Jaskier | Dandelion/Valdo Marx
Comments: 25
Kudos: 167





	You Don't Know It Yet

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by an ask on Tumblr! What if Valdo had been madly in love with Jaskier, but all his grand gestures and attemps to woo him were seen as challenges? What if Jaskier assumed Valdo was trying to show off and one-up him? I've become oddly invested in Valdo.

Because, _of course_ Valdo likes Jaskier. Of course he does. Jaskier is charming and friendly and personable and, sure, he’s one of those people you either love or hate but – _gods_ – Valdo knows which one he is.

Valdo is practical. He’s sensible. He’s focused on graduating, on finding a career, on getting stable ground beneath his feet. He’s pragmatic to a fault. He _loves_ , but there’s no inclination there for grand gestures. It is not enough, he thinks, to look someone in the eye and say, true and simple: _I love you?_ Apparently not. Not for a bard, in any case.

Valdo’s talented, but he struggles to put his feelings into words. He’s got all these swirling emotions that he doesn’t quite know what to do with. He tries to sound charming, but it comes out as an insult. He tries to write a declaration of love, but it sounds cold – distant – _wrong_. And Jaskier, bless his stupid face, is so good at having emotions. He falls in love quickly and loudly and you can hear his heart aching on the strings of his lute. Valdo has learnt to make up stories when he’s writing ballads – to pull the feelings out of the air – but he knows full well that everything Jaskier sings is horribly true.

Jaskier’s got a string of lovers – men, women, those who’re in between. He’s taken elves and dwarves to bed alike. Valdo’s heart breaks every morning when Jaskier comes to the long breakfast table dragging with him his latest conquest – the latest object of his overflowing affection.

They’re still students, the first time he tries to woo him. There’s a group of them who get together outside of lectures to workshop poetry – ten or so bright young things, all full of life and hope. They each take turns reading their latest masterpiece to the group; a song, a poem, a snippet of dialogue. Valdo takes _weeks_ writing his poem, changing it and ripping it to pieces until he finds the perfect words. He makes sure there’s a puzzle to it – makes sure that you have to think about who the subject of the poem is.

But not _too_ hard. Jaskier is Jaskier, after all. He’s not really one for hidden meaning.

He thinks it’s fairly simple. He thinks it’s easy. He reads the poem out loud, and he can feel his face flush as he trips over the lines. When he’s done, he holds his notebook loosely at his side and peers at Jaskier, his heart pounding in his chest.

And Jaskier… doesn’t respond. Valdo isn’t sure what he’s hoping for - a smile, or a wink, or a blush - but there’s nothing. Nothing but a growing frown.

The others compliment the work. But Jaskier is silent for the rest of the evening.

Valdo doesn’t know what to do. So he tries again. The next time they meet he brings his lyre along with a brief but passionate song about blue eyes. Jaskier just stares at him - before standing, with a flourish, and belting out his own song, full of longing and heartache.

He tries again. And again. He writes poems, songs. He grabs Jaskier’s hand in a tavern while the band is playing but is met with a cold glance and half a stilted dance before he moves away. He buys him wine - _Est Est,_ his favourite - and Jaskier buys a round for the whole bar. There’s a plan involving rose petals and music and candlelight - but Jaskier walks in, takes a quick look around the room and immediately leaves again.

It lasts for years. After they graduate, Valdo can’t stand it any more and grabs one of their friends. He quizzes her - begs to know what’s going on with Jaskier.

And she tells him. He blanks out a lot of the conversation, but he hears _rival_ , and _superior_ , and _smug_. He hears _competition_ and _adversary_. _Proud. Puffed-up. Pompous._

Oh. _Oh_. And he suddenly sees why it all went wrong. And he has to do something - has to say something - but their friend shakes her head.

“He’s gone,” she says. “Travelling. You _won_ , Valdo. Give it up.”

Valdo doesn’t feel like he’s won.

Their paths cross, every so often. He tries to talk to him, tries to explain - but Jaskier is cold and distant and there’s nothing but anger in those beautiful eyes.

He meets him sometime just before the Djinn, and he’s well aware that Jaskier’s now travelling with a witcher. He’s heard the songs, of course, but more than that: the rumours. Everyone’s talking about it. The Witcher and the Bard. The Wolf and the Dandelion.

He finds him at a banquet being thrown in honour of a mutual friend. Jaskier gives him that look – the look that breaks his heart, even now – but he steams ahead anyway.

“I hear you’ve a new travelling companion,” he says, and Jaskier’s eyes go steely, his expression fixed.

“I do.” He says, curtly.

“The, ah,” and then Valdo’s mind goes blank, because everyone’s just been calling him _the witcher,_ and he’s not even sure – “The Butcher of Blaviken?”

He realises it’s a mistake as soon as he’s said it. The steely gaze in Jaskier’s eyes is replaced with outright fury, and suddenly there’s a string of insults pouring from his mouth and a raised hand and – _Gods_ , Valdo thinks, _I’m an idiot_ – but before Jaskier can land a blow on him he’s being pulled away by Priscilla, who shoots Valdo an equally furious look.

They meet again six months later at a small reunion just outside of Oxenfurt. Jaskier keeps flashing him little glances across the room. Near the end of the evening, he approaches Valdo.

“Valdo.”

“… Yes?”

“How have you been?”

Valdo isn’t sure how to respond, and Jaskier carries on.

“Feeling well? No… sudden illnesses?”

Valdo blinks. “I… no?”

Jaskier nods. “Hmm.” And then he’s gone.

It carries on this way for years. Valdo rises through the ranks of courtly bards, flitting between cities, elbow-to-elbow with counts, duchesses, kings and queens. Sometimes his and Jaskier’s paths cross. He gives into the rivalry, letting Jaskier insult him. He begins to engage, to fight back. He finds a niche writing songs barbed in insults.

At least this way Jaskier actually talks to him.

He’s forty-three when Jaskier appears again. He hears the song first. _Her Sweet Kiss_. It take the continent by storm - even more so than _Toss a Coin._ Valdo has been keeping tabs on Jaskier’s music since they were eighteen and - _oh_ \- this is his best. It’s been picked up by minor troubadours and travellers, making its way around inns and taverns. He can’t escape it.

Valdo is back in Oxenfurt for a few months, working at the academy, when he finds Jaskier once more. Valdo doesn’t even know that Jaskier's back in the city - he’s writing songs in his usual tavern, a rich ale in one hand, when the first notes of _Her Sweet Kiss_ drift across from the bar. And then the singing begins, and the pencil drops from his hand and rolls onto the floor.

He’d know that voice anywhere.

He thought the song was beautiful before, but now, in Jaskier’s voice, it’s _incredible_. His voice breaks - _I am weak, my love, and I am wanting_ \- and suddenly all those long-buried feelings are back. Valdo would give anything to hear Jaskier sing about him like that.

The song ends, and he finds himself hovering at Jaskier’s table, a cup of _Est Est_ held in each hand. He proffers one to him and - shockingly - Jaskier takes it.

“I didn’t know,” he says, shaking his head and sitting down. “I didn’t know that you… you loved him. Like that.”

Jaskier stares at him with red-rimmed eyes and takes a long drink. “Me neither,” he says, swallowing.

“It’s a beautiful song.”

Jaskier rolls his eyes. “A beautiful song for a man in love with somebody who hates him.”

 _I know,_ he thinks, _Gods help me, Jaskier: I know._ Valdo’s mouth opens and closes uselessly. He tries and fails to find the words. There’s tears stinging in his eyes, suddenly, and he busies himself with his wine so he doesn’t have to talk.

Jaskier puts his drink down and peers at him, his head tilted to one side - a habit he’s had since they were young. And then his eyes go wide.

“Oh,” he says, softly - no more than a gasp. “ _Oh_. Valdo, I didn’t-”

His hand shoots out across the grimy table. He wraps his fingers around Valdo’s. His fingertips are gently calloused.

“I swear I didn’t know, Valdo.”

Valdo shakes his head, chewing on his lip. “I’ve always made a better rival than a lover,” he says, with a sad smile.

Jaskier squeezes his hand harder. “I don’t-” he stutters, then starts again. “I don’t know about that.”

**Author's Note:**

> I know, I know, Valdo Marx, right? For more of my nonsense in real-time, come and say hi to me on my Tumblr: [A-Kind-Of-Merry-War](https://a-kind-of-merry-war.tumblr.com/) 💖


End file.
